


Whispers

by Noëlle McHenry (Quasi_Detective)



Series: Project Eclipse [27]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Other, Personification, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 17:13:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5710486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quasi_Detective/pseuds/No%C3%ABlle%20McHenry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dashiel's addiction from the perspective of the drug.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whispers

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Communication of Dogs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6623542) by [Noëlle McHenry (Quasi_Detective)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quasi_Detective/pseuds/No%C3%ABlle%20McHenry). 



**I** t’s dark in here. I can hear your footsteps against the tiled floors of Club Aurora. You’re walking quickly. Click-clack-click-clack. You still wear heeled shoes? Those are for girls, Dashiel.

            You’re right to walk so fast; you need to move quickly before your friends show up. You don’t want them to stop you from doing what you need to do.

            Soon enough, you stop, and I hear a door close. We’re alone now. It’s dark. All I can hear is your breathing. It’s heavy and erratic, but there’s also a certain lust to it. Perhaps not sexual, but certainly a lust nonetheless.

            Suddenly, I feel your hands around me, and you pull me out, into the dim light of the room. Your purple eyes and the dark rings around them from a lack of sleep make you look crazed. I won’t help if you’re trying to fix that.

            You drag your feet across the carpet and take me to the table, where you lay me down and spread me out. Eager, aren’t you? I don’t blame you; I make you feel damn good… For a time.

            You know my side effects. You’ll become ill, paranoid, and possibly even violent to your friends. You know these things. But still you use me; still you abuse me. I almost feel bad for you. It’s almost as if you have no other choice.

            This time, you pull out a needle and a rubber tube of some sort. That’s new. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?

            Like a tourniquet, you use your mouth to tightly tie the rubber band around your upper arm. You use your tongue to lick a little bit of me off of your finger tip. How do I taste? I can only imagine that your answer would be “sweet” right now.

            Suddenly, it’s wet. I feel water seeping through me. You’re diluting me; how lame! You could just melt me down, you know? Something, perhaps the desperate look of panic on your face, tells me you don’t care. You just need your fix.

            With your teeth grit and your mouth slit horizontally, the tattoo of a spade on your right cheek seems somewhat distorted. Are you smiling? Maybe, just a little.

            Finally, you pick up the needle, and you stick it into me, sucking some of me up. I see you tap your inner elbow in a hesitant manner. I was right; you really don’t have a single clue what you’re doing right now, do you?

            You force me under your skin. I’m penetrating you now. You press down on the needle, slowly injecting what you sucked up of me into your vein. I can hear your breath hitch as you tilt your head back, your blond hair messily falling from your flushed, sweaty face.

            You need me, don’t you? What a pitiful boy.

            I will destroy you. It’s too late for you to run from me, because for you, every path away from me leads right back to me. I will constantly lean into your ear and whisper what you really want; me.

            If you refuse, I will beat you. I will twist you apart from the inside. You think you’ve got a bad leg? You won’t be able to use either leg once I’m done with you.

            Think of it this way; if you stay, you’ll die, but if you run, you’ll die. You’ve really done it now, Dashiel. There’s no hope for you anymore,  
           not as long as the little devil on your shoulder keeps on whispering.


End file.
